First & Last.

My father was the first man in my life to ever break my heart.

I thought grieving for him would be a more straightforward process because of the role he failed to play & the responsibilities he neglected. All I could ever remember was the way he left & the accumulation of pain that rippled across various threads of my life. The sweet memories I’ve ever had of him feels foreign — it’s as if that was a different person altogether. I’ve only ever understood the importance of a father figure in a nuclear institution of family through his absence. His presence gave us more pain & suffering than ease & relief.

So why is it that it hurts even more now? Even after sitting with this feeling, I still can’t make sense of it. Is it regret? Perhaps it’s shame? Or maybe it’s both, for not granting him another chance to redeem himself after all the things he put us through. In our narrative, he was the villain who sat on a throne built upon lies, manipulation & abuse. & at the end of it all, that was who he was & remains to be in our eyes. However, in truth, maybe Allah has written a different ending for my father. He was only afforded time to salvage his relationship with his siblings. Unfortunately, he wasn’t afforded more to salvage his relationship with us. The man that he was & the father that he wasn’t are/were (what tense do I use when grief seems to supersede time?) the only narratives that I have of him in my mind. Yet, in days leading up to his departure, they tell me that he missed his children a lot. Yet, in days leading up to his departure, they tell me he kept mentioning how proud he was of me. Yet, in days leading up his departure, they tell me how much he loved all of us.

My father wasn’t just the first man to break my heart — he was the first ever to break my trust. Even with all that resentment I harbored since I was a child, I forgave him easily as I kissed his forehead for the last time. Death has a way reducing things to a simpler perspective. As much as I claim to hate my father, I can’t seem to escape the inherent love of a daughter towards her father. There’s nothing more that I wish for my father than the illumination of his resting place, the serenity of his time in waiting, & for his journey to be eased in all ways.

It seems as if the sky had opened up on the day my father passed. The moment his body was lowered into the ground, it rained heavily & ever since then, it has been pouring every single day. Sunrise & sunset reminds me of a certain boy who broke my heart years ago. Now, heavy rain reminds of a certain man whose last question he ever asked me was “Ikhmah, apa khabar?” (“Ikhmah, how are you?”).

Well, ayah, I’ve been good. I have a stable job now. I started hitting the gym. I gym harder now that you’re gone because I can’t sleep unless I’m tired out of my mind. I love your granddaughters (yes, there are two of them now!) & grandson to bits & I can’t wait to have children of my own. You haven’t met the youngest one, have you? You would be fondest of her. Because I know I am. & I met someone. He tries his best, he treats me well & I love him so much. You would have liked him, I think. Or maybe not, because you probably don’t think any guy would be good enough for me haha. I’m happy, ayah. & I’ve forgiven you too, for everything. So I hope you’re at peace. I have so much to say, but maybe I’ll gather the courage to say them to you when I visit you again. Soon. Because I don’t know what to do with this grief. Rest well.

My father broke my heart for the last time on 2nd February 2022.

Please keep almarhum Roslie Abu Bakar in your kind prayers.